Susan Narrating – The Signal Co. Office
It was Monday morning. Ugh.
There’s something about Mondays that brings out the worst—I mean the best—in people. Employees were clacking away on their keyboards like, “Why am I even doing this?” Headphones on, eyes glazed, talking to clients who absolutely do not care about your opinion. Like—why call us if you’re just going to follow your own opinion anyway? Sure, let’s throw company policy out the window and go with whatever you want, Mr. Customer. Revolutionary.
My nose was practically blowing smoke. I hadn’t touched my coffee. My donut was suffering from neglect. And the phone. Would. Not. Stop. Ringing.
Welcome to my life.
Then Pete walked by—yes, Pete, the accountant—cool as ever. He silently handed me a bar of chocolate.
“Here. Have a bar. Might help you relax.”
If you don’t know Pete, he’s our rule-book loyalist. By-the-numbers. Lawful Good. If he doesn’t follow protocol, we’re probably headed for a full financial collapse. So, yeah. We let Pete be Pete.
Meanwhile, in the sales conference room… there he was.
Macchismo D.
My forever crush. My emotionally unavailable slideshow king.
He stood there—pointer stick in hand—presenting a bar graph like it owed him money. I had no idea what he was saying. The lines were going down, which seemed bad, but who cares? He looked fantastic. That’s what matters, sista.
After the presentation, Jezzie Bell Morgan—his boss and part-time career extinguisher—said loud enough for everyone to hear:
“Well, that was an epic fail.”
Then she walked away like she didn’t just shatter a man’s soul in front of the photocopier.
Later, in the pantry, Macchismo was talking to Pete. Yohanes and I were “not listening” from behind the coffee machine.
“I studied. I did research,” Macchismo said. “I’m trying to impress her… but she keeps belittling me. I just… I just want her to notice me. To say I did well.”
Then we noticed her.
Cassandra Vaughn—the owner. The Big Boss. Silent ninja of wisdom. She had been sitting across the table the whole time.
She walked over and said:
“Macchismo, you’re a good employee. I know your skills. You bring real value to this company—and yes, being charming helps in sales. But your mistake wasn’t the presentation. It was the constant need for validation. You’re doing the work for praise, not purpose.
All of us want to feel seen. We crave it. But when your entire performance depends on someone else clapping? That’s not work—it’s theater.”
Yohanes and I nodded in spiritual agreement.
Cassandra went on:
“When I started this company, I said yes to everything. I tried to be liked by every investor, every client. Eventually, I lost my voice. I couldn’t make a decision without someone else’s opinion echoing in my head.
I’m not saying bypass Jezzie. She’s your boss for a reason. But she doesn’t get a pass for disrespect. I’ll have Horatio from HR talk to her.”
Then she looked at him kindly and said:
“You can say no, Macchismo. Politely. With strength. Bring your A-game—not for her, but because it’s yours. You’re Macchismo D.”
“THE SALES ADONIS!” I shouted from the hallway.
Everyone laughed. Even Pete twitched a smile.
Back at Susan’s Apartment – Oishi Narrating
Boyo and I were watching TV.
We heard the stomping. My tail wagged.
Susan had returned.
She kicked the door open like a biblical hurricane.
“Boyo! Did you bathe Badoodle? Did you feed him? Comb his hair? Walk him? Rub his belly?!”
She unloaded every question like a spiritual machine gun.
Boyo calmly answered, “Yes.”
Once she’d recovered, he asked, “How was your day?”
Susan began her usual tirade about rude customers and how criminally attractive Macchismo looked in daylight.
I placed a paw on my face.
Then Boyo, like the philosopher he secretly is, rephrased:
“What good thing happened today?”
Susan paused.
“Not good like… eating-my-donut good—because that didn’t happen. But I think… I learned something.”
I gasped internally. Susan? Learning?
“Macchismo is charming, sure—but Boyo, you are quietly confident. You don’t chase validation. You just are good.”
She admitted she’d once visited Boyo’s work—with fried rice in hand—and overheard his boss saying Boyo was an incredible leader. She and I got hungry waiting… and ate the rice.
I regret nothing.
Susan then asked, “How do you do it, Boyo? Be confident without all the noise?”
Boyo scooped me up and said:
“Galatians 1:10.”
Susan blinked.
“Is that a street?”
He smiled:
“Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God?
Or am I trying to please people?
If I were still trying to please people,
I would not be a servant of Christ.”
We were both speechless. Even I, Oishi, philosopher dog and lifelong judge of human behavior.
Susan nodded slowly.
“Well… I’ll try. Can’t promise I won’t slip. But I’ll try.”
She grabbed Boyo’s motorbike keys.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To Macchismo’s apartment. I’m gonna stick that Bible verse on his door.”
“Can’t you give it to him tomorrow?”
“Nope. He has another presentation. Plus, I wanna catch him shirtless.”
Boyo and I: 🐾🤦
That Night
We snuck out like spies in black.
I brought my squeaky toy.
She brought her drama.
We stuck the note to his apartment door and disappeared into the night.
Next Day – Susan Narrating
In the conference room, Macchismo stood tall. Confident.
The bar graph was going up. The words made sense this time.
“If we follow our brand pillars and execute sales strategies—outbound, consultative, solution selling—we’ll see a 537% increase in client engagement.”
Jezzie muttered, “Good job. I guess,” and walked away.
Later, I found a dozen donuts on my desk with a note:
“I know it’s you. And the furry guy.
Thank you.”
And just like that—I was floating.
THE END
🧁 Donut count: 0 (still uneaten)
📈 Validation status: Internalized
🙏 Spiritual growth: 537%
Ember - Fire and Soul 